A Bewitching Blend
by hobbits on the island
Summary: Aaron discovers something familiar in a place he didn't expect. Based on 1x21 'The Greater Good' I do not own Lost. the end.


**A/N:** Wrote this ages ago, but I never got around to posting it (like most of the stuff I write). Just a random flashforward. The only OC is the canned peach lady, but I understand if you don't fully... understand it.

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**A Bewitching Blend**

'Are you alright, dear?'

Um, define alright. Physically, yes. His legs are tingling from their unfortunate encounter with a canvas full of what he can only assume is bricks, and his nose is rather squashed from its encounter with the, er, floor, but other than that, his body's functioning top notch; thanks.

Something metal and cylindrical rolls round and bumps him on the head. Oh, canned peaches; not bricks after all.

'I'm fine, thanks.' No, not fine. Physically, yes. Mentally, he'd entered panic mode some five minutes ago.

'You best watch where you're going, dearie,' Little-old-canned-peach-lady says cheerily as he hands her the heavy canvas bag. 'That was quite the sprawl you had there.' She hoists three more can-laden bags from the ground to her shoulder and beams at him. Then, with surprising speed and agility for someone her age, heads up the steps and out of the underground.

Aaron gawks after her a moment. What where he's going? He hardly knows where he is.

He stumbles in a semi-straight direction toward the large plastic courtesy map, cursing himself for being so monumentally mental. If only he'd taken account of the fact that he has no sense of direction at all twenty minutes ago when taking the subway was such a grand idea!

But no!

Perhaps this is why his mum is so keen on the buddy system.

He's just about eight stations from where he wants to be, as far as he can tell. He traces his fingers down routes and mumbles station names to himself and runs his hand through his hair until it sticks up on end, his keen ears picking up the exotic sounds of the underground. Mum is never going to forgive him if he's late from school again. Speaking of Mum.. he checks his watch

_Four fifteen?? _She's going to_ kill him_. He needs a train, any train.

Aaron is indeed again in panic mode as he springs towards the stop, aiming for the nearest opening door.

Four fifteen!! He hears the countdown begin to go down in _ping_s.

And another _ping_

And won't you help to sing these songs -

Aaron whips his head in the direction of this new sound, and the rest of his body follows, last of all being his feet that skid swiftly over the tile.

_of freedom, cos all I ever have_ -

The sudden change in direction nearly makes him slip again, but he takes a few wobbly half-steps and regains his balance in stride. Smooth.

_Redemption so_ -

He fails to notice the bright orange pylon in his hurry. The music stops as his worn soles squeak and skid over wet tile, his feet fly up, his limbs tangle with someone else's, he hits the ground. Hard.

'Ow,' he chokes.

Second time in a day, second time in five minutes, was he ever on a roll. The thing that he's landed with (on) is apparently another human, who manages to scramble to their feet before Aaron can even stop the lights in front of his eyes from winking.

'Son of a _bitch_.' This is the sound he's heard, this is the voice. It sounds like the favourite song he hasn't heard in forever. His heartbeat starts to slow.

'Hey, Curly, still kicking there?'

He's still spread-eagled on the slick tile.

A hand much stronger than his yanks him up, and how he finds he's standing, facing a girl not much older than himself. She has one hand on her hip and the other holding a broken mop, a bitter look on her face.

'Oh, erm, hi,' he stutters. Aaron has never been very… experienced with girls, and not just because he goes to private school. And now he's collided with one, which is about as close to second base as he's ever gotten. At least, if he has a pretty good idea of what defines second base. Aaron hates baseball.

Oh, and he's broken her mop.

'Sorry about your… mop.'

The girl flicks her blonde hair carelessly and rolls her eyes. 'SsssshhITT yes, that's a frickin' tragedy. At least it was swift. So where the hell were you going in such a hurry that you failed to notice the speedbump, Slick?'

If he had his guitar, Aaron could pluck out the chords that make up her voice. She's one of those people you can tell is a good singer just by the way she talks.

'You're doing community hours.' He says it without realizing at first, which he does often. He's noticed the little laminated card around her neck and the tired old worksuit.

'By jove, Watson, what the hell gave it away?' She rummages through a cleaning cart until she finds a roll of duct tape. 'No sir, I won't be meddling in any juvenile delinquency anytime soon- the torture of scrubbing damn floors and being run over by freaks is near unbearable… Hold the end there.' Aaron reluctantly takes the broken halves of the mop and holds them steady as sarcastic-cleaning-girl mends the break with the tape. 'So how's the weather up top, Curly? Fully functioning, or did I knock you down a few IQ points? If you can risk anymore, that is.'

She smirks at Aaron (evilly, he thinks,) and he spends a few moments trying to think up a witty retort. Hmmm.. no. Nothing. First peach-lady, now this. Damn. She's pretty, but also an ass. An ass with a voice of siren-like qualities.

'Were you singing Bob Marley? Before I..?'

'Uh, ran me over RoadRunner style?'

'So that was you… it was Redemption song, right?'

She hesitates, then nods. 'Why, you like Bob Marley?'

Aaron rakes a hand through his curls again. He wasn't sure how to say this. 'This might sound weird, but have we met before?'

'I…' Her blue eyes scrutinize him for a moment, '..don't think so. Why?'

Why?! 'Because- because a minute ago I was FREAKINGOUT to the point of seizure - and now I'm on the ground, er, fixing a mop. And it's four-seventeen. Or eighteen.' Sometimes he does this venting-thing where everything he wants to say kind of tumbles out at once, much like his habit of voicing things without realizing it. Aaron has always adored music and sound more than food and sometimes air, and it baffles him how hard this sound is to define. He clears his throat.

'I don't suppose you clean public places often…'

She laughs and rips off a final piece of duct tape, throwing the roll onto the cart. 'What, you think I'm stupid enough to get caught? This is my first time. For mouthing off to a cop, can you believe that?' She shakes her head, her pinned hair carelessly falling out of place. 'Guy was being a jackass anyway.' She cocks her head and watches him curiously, but all he can do is shrug.

'Then I have no idea.. Your voice is just familiar. Well, not really your voice- something about the quality.' Aaron's head shakes in frustration. He feels it, that detestable feeling of trying to drag a memory from the depths of your mind that stubbornly refuses to resurface.

'Er, Curly?' The voice snaps his few minutes of concentration as she raps his wrist. 'You can let the mop go now.'

Aaron heaves a sigh of surrender and drops the mop. 'I should really get going.' He gets up, still lost in thought. 'Oh, hold on,' he turns around and the sarcastic cleaning girl is wringing the mop in her hands absent-mindedly, but she looks up and her eyes are piercing. He hesitates. 'I didn't catch your name.'

He could almost mistake her smile as sweet. 'Call me Lennie.'

'I'm Aaron.'

And that's when he notices the car ad behind her. It's all in his head, clear as a bell, like he memorized every word.

…_Beneath the hood of the 4.4 litre power plant features a fully integrated supercharger made into a 6 speed transmission from the manual sequential shift feature_…

'…This smooth-riding car offers a bewitching blend of taste, comfort and econo-'

Lennie's jaw is agape as she stares at him, bewildered. 'What… '

Aaron realizes that he's talking aloud. She probably thinks (rightfully so) the he's mentally unstable or something. _Damn first impressions_. 'Um, bye,' he stutters, and awkwardly turning round again, feet slightly slipping and stumbling again, heads toward the approaching train, cursing himself silently under his breath.

Lennie watches as the last ping separates him from her with a door of glass and plastic, and the train rolls out of sight.

'Son of a bitch,' she mutters to herself, smiling.

Dumping the mop in a bucket, she sloshes a bit more water over the floor and starts to sing again.

**AAN: **It mentions somewhere in Season 3 that Sawyer has a daughter called Clementine, hence, I gave her a nickname. Thank you for allowing me to waste your time. Twas my pleasure.


End file.
